As a colleague said to me when we hailed each other at the Royal Opera House the other night, "This one really has had mixed reviews, hasn't it?" He was referring to Stephen Langridge's much-discussed new production of Wagner's Parsifal, just opened at Covent Garden. And he is right, the critics have either tended to love or to hate it. But audience members also were discussing it fairly ferociously (as ferociously as that genteel, sophisticated group of people ever get, anyway) and there were comments along the lines of, "What was that all about?" I am driven, therefore, by one of the most visceral, thought-provoking and sometimes just plain provoking Wagner stagings I have seen to put digits to keyboard and give my take...
First, a (limited) declaration of interest. I have a music consultancy company, and we work with artists who are employed by the Royal Opera from time to time. If that means you decide to entirely ignore this qualified rave, feel free. I'll understand. But I'm not here to discuss the musical side other than to say it was all outstanding (Angela Denoke's brilliant acting won the day over her worn high notes) and not that the cast--which also included Simon O'Neil, Gerald Finley, René Pape, Willard White and Robert Lloyd with Antonio Pappano magnificent in the pit--was pretty much as good as you will find in the world today.
I'm concentrating on the production. Parsifal needs some help (cue shrieking from Wagner lovers everywhere). It does not contain, to my ears, the same level of melodic invention as Wagner's other great operas. And it suffers, in common with one or two of the others, the odd longueur and a libretto that can seem opaque. It is, however, more than the sum of its still-considerable parts. Or, maybe I mean precisely the sum of its considerable parts, as complexity mounts upon complexity and it works its way unerringly into your system. You don't leave a Parsifal anywhere near the emotional--and I might even say psychological--state in which you arrived, or at least you shouldn't.
So, the potential for telling production points is vast. Langridge doesn't only veer from a traditional, period setting, he reimagines what the whole darn thing is about. And, at the same time, his view magnifies what is undeniably in the work in the first place.
There are spoilers here, so if you're planning to watch the cinema-cast or the (hopefully) inevitable DVD, you might want to stop reading. When we meet Langridge's Grail knights they are in smart, modern outfits. They look friendly and businesslike, all smiles and reasonableness. When Parsifal wanders in, dishevelled, possibly inebriated and perhaps homeless, he looks like he could well do with their welcome and maybe a cup of soup.
The first shock comes as the Grail is set to be unveiled. A group of, again, smart and reasonable-looking young men step forward. And they cut themselves in the hands. That sets the tone for all that follows. Because this religious sect is a blood cult. The Grail is a boy, clad only in a loincloth, who is ritually slashed across the stomach by a razor-wielding Klingsor (no wonder the poor fellow is tormented) and has clearly been kept hidden and groomed for this since birth. So far, we have mutilation, child abuse and the unholy trinity of abominations is complete when our reasonable young men are presented with guns and an ominous-looking holdall and stride offstage to do whatever violent work they believe God has assigned them.
Is this really so far from what Wagner intended? Never mind what he intended--a perfectly valid thing to say about any author, actually--is it in the piece? Yes. When you are jolted to look for them, as here, there are plenty of references to wounds, to stabbings and piercings, to the Grail filled up with blood. And here is the true brilliance of Langridge's vision. To you or I, who may view the major religions in a balanced way, the idea of Christianity and Jesus' sacrifice is uncontroversial. In the Christian tradition, he went through the dreadful, tortuous experience of death as a tragic last resort to save humanity. The very awfulness of it is what can make it resonate in such positive ways.
But when such messages are misinterpreted, when they become skewed, that's when religious fervor can become dangerous. So, in the cult that Langridge presents, the spilling of blood is, itself, seen as divine. The unholy is painted as holy, the evil portrayed as divine. The Grail here symbolizes not God's perfect gift to mankind, but the terrible, potentially monstrous imperfection of our race.
A measure of how powerful this all was is that I almost got up and left when the "Grail" was revealed. I trust that the boy actor was older than he looked (about 12), otherwise I would have issues with the almost carnal way in which he was presented. But the idea was brilliant, the dark truths to which it alludes are terrifying and sickening and all around us.
Langridge goes on to play with ideas of moral relativity. Klingsor isn't necessarily evil. In fact, he could be a reformed cult member who is devoting his life now to stopping their dreadful work (or is he simply a renagade with a wounded ego?), Kundry both fascinated and repelled by the sect. Parsifal, himself, is almost a tragic figure, seduced and converted to move from horror to become the most ardent member the cult has and its new leader.
Langridge does make a rare, but important misstep at the very end--one that offers an unexpected and unconvincing happy ending. He should, when the revival comes around, rework it so that he sticks to a vision that is uncompromising, honest and full of warnings we would all do well to heed.
